A Necessary Indulgence

 

The heat index here is 108 and climbing.  An hour north of me, a year ago, it was 127.  On a day like today, ice cream is a necessary indulgence.  I don't typically care for fruited ice cream, but I have to admit, this combination is very good.  I would definitely buy these again.  Bordeaux Cherry Amaretto (black cherries, almonds, amaretto) and Amaretto Peach Charlotte (peaches, ladyfinger cookies, and almonds).  The almonds in this concoction are healthy, no?

At least I got the flowers to come back.  Between the heat and the insects, I was about ready to toss everything into the trash.  I had set the containers on the concrete patio, and the radiant heat was burning up the roots.  Aphids and some little green caterpillars had also taken up residence among the leaves.  Even though I had treated them for aphids, and had been watering them every other day, they were nearly all dead, except for a few spindly stalks of green. I moved the containers onto the lawn, and within three days, they were turning green and blooming again.  I even have a few begonias bursting into blooms. I will post some photos soon.

I noticed a Blue Jay on the edge of the birdbath today, but he didn't drink from it, or bathe in it. I wonder if it's too deep.  I had placed a large glass pie plate out on the ground as a temporary birdbath.  It saw lots of action, but I wanted something taller, since stray cats and other wildlife roam the yard.  The birdbath doesn't get used nearly as much.  I ordered a solar fountain for it and will drop the water depth a bit when it shows up tomorrow. Pics to follow.

When Flowers Bloom Into Wishes

It's mid-July. The summer is wasting away. The days are so hot now that walking outdoors is like walking into a blast furnace and the 100+ heat threatens to scorch your brain cells. Still, being outdoors is a thousand times better than being stuck inside staring at a computer screen all day. So, I drag the lawn chair to the backyard, sit in the sun, and listen to the songs of the birds and the cicadas. Their sounds bring a sense of peace and calm from the chaotic clamoring in my mind. 

Back in March, I had started thinking about planting wildflowers in the backyard to reduce my lawn. Lawns are silly. They don't serve much purpose. The grass grows, and we cut it, or pay someone else to cut it, once a week... once every two weeks... It's a stalemate between you and the grass, and it's a complete waste of time, money, and energy. 

It's not that well-manicured lawns look bad. They don't. But why not plant something useful and create manicured walking paths among the wildflowers? The wildflowers will feed the birds, and the bees, and the butterflies. They will drink the rain and the dew, and display their glorious blooms for a season. When they wither, they will feed the soil, provide cover for insects and small mammals, reseed themselves, and break forth to bloom again in the spring.

The most well-manicured lawn can't compete with that.

The days tick by... the months... the seasons. I stare at the lawn, which has withered and browned in the intense southwest heat. The parched earth splits apart from the summer drought.  "Be careful where you walk," I tell myself, while prickly blades of grass crunch under my bare feet.  As odd as it sounds, I find the brown, dying lawn more appealing now than when it was lush and green. 

A not-so-random thought emerges that I speak out loud to myself. "It's too late to plant anything, now." And I derive a sense of relief knowing that the time to plant has indeed long passed, and I am, somehow, now absolved of the responsibility, because I never planted the wildflowers. I only dreamt about them. I only wrote about them, and became lost in the overwhelm.  

The overwhelm is my near-constant companion. It's the precursor to procrastination.  It's the thing that keeps me from moving forward on any project.

You've heard the phrase, "You have to eat the elephant one bite at a time."

Focusing on the overwhelm is the brain envisioning you eating the whole elephant all at once, rather than taking it on one bite at a time.  It lets you see the goal on the other side, and it lets you see where you are at the starting point, but everything in between resembles a Jackson Pollock painting. There is no form. There is no path. There is no way to get there from here. So, you sink into procrastination, and you abandon yet another project that may have brought you a bit of joy and a sense of accomplishment. The pattern of procrastination always leaves a void.

Fall comes. Winter comes. Another spring. Another summer. And the flowers bloom into wishes.

The Uses of Sorrow by Mary Oliver

(In my sleep I dreamed this poem)

Someone I loved once gave me

a box full of darkness.

It took me years to understand

that this, too, was a gift.

- “The Uses of Sorrow” by Mary Oliver (1935-2019), from "Thirst," 2007. Beacon Press.

Your Forgotten Child

This sculpture by Alexander Milov, "Love," speaks volumes about the current state of the world. There is so much hatred and division among adults, yet I believe our inner children want to connect with each other and be kind. Grown-up pride won't allow it, though, because as adults, we always have to be right. Beneath the layers of resentment, fear, and ego, our truest selves - our inner children - desperately long to love and be loved. But the unspoken wounds and silent pride often keep us from healing and reconnecting. 

Childhood trauma specialist, Tim Fletcher, speaks about the deep emotional needs of children. He emphasizes that every child, no matter their circumstances, seeks love, safety, and connection. These needs don’t disappear as we grow older; rather, they get buried under the armor we develop to navigate an often unforgiving world. When conflicts arise, our adult selves react defensively, distancing us from the very connection we need to heal.

Milov’s sculpture is a visual representation of this inner struggle. The adult figures, rigid and closed off, symbolize the pride and pain that keep us apart. Meanwhile, the inner children, uninhibited by resentment, embody the pure and simple desire to reconnect. Yet, they remain trapped, unable to break through the barriers erected by their adult counterparts.

Experiences of rejection, betrayal, and disappointment teach us to suppress vulnerability. Pride tells us that reaching out might make us look weak, that it is safer to stay behind our emotional walls than to risk being hurt again. However, in protecting ourselves, we also isolate ourselves.

This cycle of pride and disconnection not only affects romantic relationships but extends to friendships, families, and even society as a whole. How many times have we seen relationships crumble because neither party was willing to take the first step toward reconciliation? How often do we allow disagreements to define our relationships rather than seeking understanding?

So, how do we bridge this gap? How do we free our inner children and allow them to connect? Here are some steps we can take:

1. Acknowledge the Inner Child – Recognizing that beneath our defenses lies a wounded but hopeful child is the first step to healing. When we become aware of this part of ourselves, we can better understand our emotional responses.

2. Let Go of Pride – Pride often serves as a false protector. True strength lies in vulnerability. Taking the first step toward reconciliation, even if it feels uncomfortable, is an act of courage, not weakness.

3. Practice Empathy – Seeing the inner child in others can transform our perception. When we view people not as adversaries but as individuals carrying their own wounds, it becomes easier to extend compassion.

4. Communicate with Openness – Honest conversations, free from blame and defensiveness, pave the way for understanding. Expressing our feelings and listening with an open heart can dismantle walls built over years of silence.

5. Choose Connection Over Ego – When faced with conflict, ask yourself: Is being right more important than being connected? Prioritizing love over pride allows relationships to heal and flourish.

Just as Milov's "Love" depicts the struggle between pride and vulnerability, it also offers hope because we see the inner children still reaching out. The possibility of connection remains, waiting for us to choose it.

By embracing the innocence, love, and openness of our inner child, we can begin to mend what betrayal, rejection, and disappointment have broken. True healing comes not from winning arguments or proving a point but from the simple yet powerful act of reaching out—just as the children in Milov’s sculpture long to do.

In the end, love is always within reach. We only need the courage to break free from our self-imposed prisons and take the first step toward one another.

Peanut Butter and Jelly

It’s the age-old problem. What do you want to eat? You look through the fridge. Milk. Cheese. Dates (those are healthy, right)? Butter. Pickles. Ketchup. Mayonnaise. Mustard. Strawberry preserves (another health food… sort of). Long forgotten, unidentifiable leftovers from another time (Yeah, I should probably throw that away the next time the trash runs)… I should also probably shop for groceries and get some grown-up food. 

The freezer doesn’t yield much better results. 

The pantry is just depressing. 

I spot a jar of peanut butter in the corner on a shelf, reach for it, and hold it up in the air as if it’s some cosmic trophy.

“Alas, all is not lost. We shall feast, and feast we shall.” I said out loud to the universe, as I glanced down at my cat, Lilly, who was neither impressed nor amused. She simply blinked, flicked her tail in the air, and walked away with that dismissive swagger that only a cat owner knows.

I pulled a package of flatbread from the freezer and tossed a piece into the toaster oven. Once warm, I slathered some peanut butter and strawberry preserves on it, and lunch was served with a side of cold milk. Behold, the peanut butter and jelly on warm flatbread sandwich (at least it’s more grown-up than plain old white bread… maybe). 

My tastebuds have never grown up. Breakfast consisted of banana pancakes, with chocolate chips, and a hot cup of coffee that I set down somewhere, and still have yet to find, among the mental chaos that fills my days. It’s long cold by now. Not suitable for a morning brew, but perhaps salvageable for an afternoon icy mocha with a drizzle of chocolate syrup.